Mother Hen
by Meum Cerebrum Nocet
Summary: Molly watched, with more than a little haughty joy, as the young red-head also became a mother hen I her own right.


_**Summary:**_ _Molly watched, with more than a little haughty joy, as the young red-head also became a mother hen I her own right._

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I own no recognizable content. All belongs to its rightful owner(s)._

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 **Mother Hen**

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 _Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them._

 _~Oscar Wilde_

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Molly couldn't help it. She'd come of age during wartime. She'd become a mother with the spectre of death hanging over her head and the heads of those she loved. She'd raised her young sons while dealing with the loss of her beloved brothers, along with the loss of so many others. Her young adulthood and early motherhood had been terrible, tragic, and absolutely terrifying.

Was it really that surprising that she hovered? So much of her children's early childhood had consisted of Molly just hoping that each of them and both of their parents would live to see another day. It was hard to turn that concern off. Instead, she ended up transferring it.

Where before she'd worried about wizards attacking, she now worried about scraped knees and bruises. Where before she'd worried about dark objects ending up in the hands of her children, she now worried about broken toys and childhood squabbles. And each area of worry was equal to the other, the downfall of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn't lessened her worry in any way, shape, or form.

Molly was a smothering, over-protective, mother hen. And there was no changing that.

She knew that her children didn't always appreciate her smothering, even though it came from a place of absolute love and concern. They'd all made protestations, with various amounts of anger or frustration or embarrassment behind them. However, even with all the other Weasley's combined, Ginny took the award for loudest, most forceful, and most frequent. She had made it perfectly clear, almost incessantly so, that she hated Molly's Mother Hen routine. In fact, Ginny was so against is all that, basically from the time she could talk, Ginny swore up and down that she would not smother her children. She would let them be kids and get into all kinds of trouble without worrying about them in the slightest.

Each time Ginny made that assertion, Molly would simply nod politely, all the while eagerly awaiting the moment Ginny became a mum and truly realised what it was like to give birth to and raise children.

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Molly Weasley sat in her favourite spot, her chair, in the Burrow's crowded living room. There was not a single surface in the small room that was empty. Ever since Molly's children had started having children, the already claustrophobic Burrow became more and more filled. And Molly wouldn't have it any other way.

She absolutely enjoyed watching each of her unique children grow into adults and then grow into parents. Each of them was so very different with their children. Bill, always the daredevil, subscribed to the theory that said kids should be kids and learn through their own experiences. Percy, who had always been a hard worker, tried very valiantly, and somewhat successfully, to instil the same into his daughters. George would gladly join his children in their antics, being a kid at heart himself. Ron would usually defer to Hermione, but those times that he was required to take the spotlight, his style usually fell somewhere between George and Bill.

And then, there was Ginny.

The only Weasley girl was, at that moment, clinging to her young daughter while hovering over her two young sons. The Potter boys, along with most of their older cousins, were sitting on the floor of the room playing a fairly intense game of Gobstones. Every five minutes, as if on cue, or whenever a loud noise or cheer erupted, Ginny would flinch and shoot her young sons a word of caution.

"All right, children," Bill's booming voice sounded over the din of the room. At it, the once loud and chattering Weasley grandchildren quieted down and turned to the eldest Weasley child. "How about you head outside? Give the adults some alone time." At his words, the children cheered then hurried out into the large garden.

"James! Albus! Wait please so I can put on a sub block charm! Watch out for each other! Don't go beyond the gate! If you're playing Quidditch you need to stay on your brooms! You cannot ride on Fred's broom unless there is an adult present!" Ginny called after her boys. She then chased after them, still clutching the baby Lily tightly to her chest.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, Ginny came back in and collapsed onto the couch beside her husband. Harry took Lily onto his lap and began bouncing the baby as Ginny regaled him, and the rest of the room, with the goings on of the children getting ready. Most of her story was filled with her fussing and the near misses the children experienced. Molly chuckled at the very fact that Ginny felt the need to tell them about the fairly uneventful moments.

Ginny, despite all her early protestations and her strong belief that she would not be like Molly, fretted unnecessarily. Ginny, much like her mother, had turned into her own worrying, over-protective Mother Hen.

It sure was funny how things turned out.


End file.
